


Gone Too Far

by Creej



Series: Gone Too Far [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Suicide, aftermath of suicide, dark!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creej/pseuds/Creej
Summary: Neal plots revenge on Peter...he succeeds better than he planned.





	Gone Too Far

**Author's Note:**

> As it says in the tags, this is a dark fic and involves the death of a major character.

Peter Burke. The name made Neal seethe with anger. Peter Burke, who'd used Kate to catch him, who hadn't believed him when he'd told him she was in trouble, who'd kept him off the plane. Yes, he would have been killed as well but at least they would have spent their final moments together.

Instead, he was once more shackled to the Bureau, to Peter, as he played pet convict, helping them put away people like him. That was almost as galling as the jabs about orange jumpsuits and the almost constant threats about being tossed back into prison. He huffed out a humorless laugh. He was still in prison, one with a two mile radius and a ten million dollar view, but still a prison.

He sipped his wine, plans crowding his mind - plans to bring down Peter Burke, destroy his life, take everything from him just like he'd taken everything from Neal. His smile became cold, calculating as he realized he already had an in with his handler - Peter thought they were friends and he was friendly with Elizabeth. They invited him to dinner often enough that the Marshals thought little of it when his anklet showed him at the Burke's house and Peter never gave any indication that they questioned it when he spent the night.

His thoughts returned to Elizabeth. She was the key, he knew, had known it since the chase when he and Moz were gathering intel on the agent on their heels. If she left him, he'd topple easily. But Elizabeth was smart, confident and nobody's fool. And completely devoted to her husband. It was for that reason he dismissed trying to seduce her even though he knew she found him attractive - she'd never cheat on Peter.

Peter. Perhaps he could coax his handler into an indiscretion. He'd seen the way Peter's eyes lingered on him more than once, noticed how the casual touches were less casual. Could he persuade the straight as an arrow, almost painfully heterosexual Peter Burke into a dalliance with his CI? While Neal himself preferred women, he'd done worse for less than have sex with a man and, he admitted, Peter wasn't bad looking.

But, should he succeed, he'd need proof, leverage - even if he didn't plan on using it - that such an indiscretion occurred. So, he prepared himself for a long con, not as Nick Halden, George Devore, Steve Tabernacle or any of his other personas but as himself, Neal Caffrey, the goal not money, priceless paintings or jewels but the destruction of Peter Burke, agent of the FBI and his personal jailer.

 

It was almost ridiculously easy to convince Peter to cross that line, to convince him he liked to roleplay with his partners, that his favorite fantasy was Peter as the rough cop subduing a suspect. He'd put up resistance at first, citing his job, the power dynamic...Elizabeth. But he'd wanted it bad enough to give in despite his protests. And Neal could count on his guilt to keep Elizabeth from finding out, use his guilt to help destroy him.

So, it was with a sense of anticipation that he let Peter shove him toward the bed in his loft, acting his part of the frightened suspect as Peter acted his of the rough cop, knowing the cameras he'd placed were recording everything.

When Peter had him naked on the bed, on hands and knees, he had to talk him into breaching him with little prep - yes, he'd probably bleed a little and would be sore but he'd be able to use it. When Peter still hesitated, Neal said a few choice words he knew would piss off his handler and got the result he wanted - Peter ramming his cock balls deep into his ass. He winced, making sure the cameras caught his look of pain. He also made sure they caught the tears he let flow as Peter pounded into him, wondering if he'd have bruises where Peter gripped him. If so, he'd be sure to get pictures - more leverage. He hid his look of distaste when he felt Peter's come fill him and instead kept playing to the cameras as he buried his face in the pillows in supposed shame as Peter collapsed on the bed beside him.

He waited until the other man was asleep before shutting off the recording and pulling on his underwear, knowing he'd have to do some editing to remove the look of concern he knew Peter had worn before slamming into him. He looked at his hips and smiled - there were fingertip bruises coming up already. He'd take pictures later, after Peter left.

 

He watched his handler in silent glee after he got the anonymous package delivered to the office. Saw his face go white as he read the typewritten note telling him that he'd received copies only and, should he step out of line, his fellow agents, along with his wife, would find out what he'd done to the prisoner in his custody. Neal had deliberately left vague what constituted stepping out of line meant. He, of course, played the concerned partner, offering to help if he'd only tell him what the problem was. He wasn't surprised when Peter refused the offer - Peter was an intensely private person and liked to handle things on his own.

Over the following days and weeks, Peter became more and more withdrawn, treating him with kid gloves, refusing to send him undercover if there was the slightest chance of him getting hurt. The only downside for him was it meant he was stuck at his desk dealing with the most boring of boring cases.

He saw the strain Peter was under most starkly when he was invited to dinner at the Burke's house. He barely touched his food but emptied bottle after bottle of beer while Elizabeth tried to hide her concern. When Peter left the room she confided in him that her husband was barely sleeping and asked if he had any idea what was wrong. He, of course, said he didn't.

It wasn't long before the work began to suffer, Peter lost his train of thought, became short with everyone, including Neal and their stats dropped. The only reason Neal cared about that last was they might decide he was no longer useful and send him back to complete his sentence.

Finally it became too much for Elizabeth - the man who came home every night wasn't the kind, loving man she married, wasn't the rock she'd built her marriage on - he was just a shell, brittle and fragile, of the man he used to be and as much as she loved him, she couldn't stay with him as he was. She begged him to talk to her, talk to _someone_ but it had fallen on deaf ears. Neal was there when she told Peter she was leaving, to let her know when he got help and he barely contained his gleeful satisfaction. Things were going according to plan.

What he hadn't realized was how well his plan would actually work - until Peter didn't show up at the office for the third day in a row. Even with recent events, that was unusual. Diana grabbed him on her way out to go check on her boss and they arrived at the house to find the door locked and no answer to their repeated knocks. With a look, she told him to pick the lock and they cautiously entered, only to stop short at the scene that presented itself - Peter Burke in his recliner, eyes staring sightlessly at nothing, left hand lying limply in his lap, right hand hanging over the arm, gun a few feet away on the floor...and blood caked on the side of his head from the bullet hole piercing his temple.

Neal found himself shaking his head in disbelief as he backed out of the house. He'd wanted to lay Peter low...not _this_. He'd imagined any number of scenarios but this hadn't even made the list - not Peter dead by his own hand. His plan had worked - he'd destroyed Peter, he'd lost everything...including his life.

Diana sent him home and he climbed the stairs in a daze. Even so, his mind was busy. He knew he had to leave, cut and run before anyone even suspected he had anything to do with the death of his handler. He destroyed the recordings, his underwear and the photos, feeling his gorge rise as they burned, his mind on the copies in Peter's desk. He figured he only had a small window to get to it before it was cleaned out and all personal effects were sent to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth. In destroying Peter's life, he'd destroyed hers as well. She'd lost her husband in his quest for revenge. He'd been so single-minded he hadn't given her a thought, hadn't considered what it would do to her. He genuinely liked her, admired her, wished Kate had been more like her - strong, confident, compassionate. There had been times he'd thought Peter didn't deserve her but he knew she loved him and he loved her. She didn't deserve what he'd done to her.

 

It was late when he entered Peter's office, the bullpen was empty and the lights were low as he broke into Peter's desk, ignoring the photos of Peter and Elizabeth that sat there. In the locked bottom drawer he found what he was looking for - the video, the letter, the pictures...and the key to his anklet. He shredded the letter and pictures and broke the disk into pieces, pocketing the key as he hefted the bag containing a few changes of clothes, his new identity and a few thousand in cash, enough to get him out of the country once he raided his caches for whatever he could conveniently sell - he'd drop some anonymous tips so the paintings could be returned. He would disappear, knowing they wouldn't find him - Peter was the only one who could - and he knew how to avoid detection, knew their playbook.

At 1:32 AM, two days before Special Agent Peter Burke's funeral, the Marshals lost signal...Neal Caffrey was in the wind.


End file.
